describing the persons he had since learned were Col. Selby and family.
Susan Cullum, colored servant at Senator Dilworthy’s, was sworn. Knew
Col. Selby. Had seen him come to the house often, and be alone in the
parlor with Miss Hawkins. He came the day but one before he was shot.
She let him in. He appeared flustered like. She heard talking in the
parlor, I peared like it was quarrelin.’ Was afeared sumfin’ was wrong:
Just put her ear to–the–keyhole of the back parlor-door. Heard a man’s
voice, “I–can’t–I can’t, Good God, quite beggin’ like. Heard–young
Miss’ voice, “Take your choice, then. If you ‘bandon me, you knows what
to ‘spect.” Then he rushes outen the house, I goes in–and I says,
“Missis did you ring?” She was a standin’ like a tiger, her eyes
flashin’. I come right out.
This was the substance of Susan’s testimony, which was not shaken in the
least by severe cross-examination. In reply to Mr. Braham’s question, if
the prisoner did not look insane, Susan said, “Lord; no, sir, just mad as
a hawnet.”
Washington Hawkins was sworn. The pistol, identified by the officer as
the one used in the homicide, was produced Washington admitted that it
was his. She had asked him for it one morning, saying she thought she
had heard burglars the night before. Admitted that he never had heard
burglars in the house. Had anything unusual happened just before that.
Nothing that he remembered. Did he accompany her to a reception at Mrs.
Shoonmaker’s a day or two before? Yes. What occurred? Little by little
it was dragged out of the witness that Laura had behaved strangely there,
appeared to be sick, and he had taken her home. Upon being pushed he
admitted that she had afterwards confessed that she saw Selby there.
And Washington volunteered the statement that Selby, was a black-hearted
villain.
The District Attorney said, with some annoyance; “There–there! That will
do.”
The defence declined to examine Mr. Hawkins at present. The case for the
prosecution was closed. Of the murder there could not be the least
doubt, or that the prisoner followed the deceased to New York with a
murderous intent: On the evidence the jury must convict, and might do so
without leaving their seats. This was the condition of the case
two days after the jury had been selected. A week had passed since the
trial opened; and a Sunday had intervened.
The public who read the reports of the evidence saw no chance for the
prisoner’s escape. The crowd of spectators who had watched the trial
were moved with the most profound sympathy for Laura.
Mr. Braham opened the case for the defence. His manner was subdued, and
he spoke in so low a voice that it was only by reason of perfect silence
in the court room that he could be heard. He spoke very distinctly,
however, and if his nationality could be discovered in his speech it was
only in a certain richness and breadth of tone.
He began by saying that he trembled at the responsibility he had
undertaken; and he should, altogether despair, if he did not see before
him a jury of twelve men of rare intelligence, whose acute minds would
unravel all the sophistries of the prosecution, men with a sense, of
honor, which would revolt at the remorseless persecution of this hunted
woman by the state, men with hearts to feel for the wrongs of which she
was the victim. Far be it from him to cast any suspicion upon the
motives of the able, eloquent and ingenious lawyers of the state; they
act officially; their business is to convict. It is our business,
gentlemen, to see that justice is done.
“It is my duty, gentlemen, to untold to you one of the most affecting
dramas in all, the history of misfortune. I shall have to show you a
life, the sport of fate and circumstances, hurried along through shifting
storm and sun, bright with trusting innocence and anon black with
heartless villainy, a career which moves on in love and desertion and
anguish, always hovered over by the dark spectre of INSANITY–an insanity
hereditary and induced by mental torture,–until it ends, if end it must